


Closer

by bar2d2s



Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I wanna get is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

Move your hand. Move a finger. Slide an inch and a half to the left and do a casual dude-brush. Start up a conversation. Do  _something_  other than act like a dweeb with a boner for the new guy. C'mon. You can do it.  _Quit being a shithead and say something_.

“So, dead dad.”  _Fuck no no not that abort abort abort_. “That’s gotta suck.”

Owen just stared down at his hands, which had clenched into fists for the hundredth time in the last hour. Axel was sure that there were deep half-moons from his nails pressed into his palms. That had to hurt. “That has to hurt. I mean, meeting him and then…yeah. I’m sorry, man.”

He wasn’t, really. He’d met the old Boomerang. Guy was kind of a dork. Owen was cooler. Angrier. There was something about the look in his eyes, the slope of his shoulders, the clench in his jaw. There was just something so… _primal_  about him, and damn did that ferocity do it for the younger man.

So, he wanted to get closer to their new guy, but it wasn’t like he’d ever been good at healthy socialization.

“So, uh. What’d you do before..?” He waved his hand, mimicked throwing a boomerang. His form must have really sucked, because Owen’s expression went from completely sour to only kind of sucking on a lime.

“I worked at a movie theater. Up in the projection booths, mostly. It wasn’t too bad, but seriously, there are only so many times a guy can watch Sean Bean die before all the movies start running together.” He shrugged, picking at his cuticles. “What about you?”

He could lie. Say he killed some people, and had to put on a mask to hide. Make himself look cooler.

“I dropped outta high school. It was boring. Too easy.” There. That would be enough to get him asking, if he wanted to know more.

Owen didn’t.

So Axel decided to quit pretending like gravity was such a burden and let himself float up, up, hovering close to the ceiling. He wasn’t pouting. He was observing.

After a while, it was like Owen forgot he was there. Like, actually forgot. He leaned forward until his knuckles were dragging on the cement floor, his head on his knees, and took a deep breath. What came out, though, was a soft sob. Owen wasn’t crying, but he was making the noises. Going through the motions, doing what he felt like he should be doing at a time like this.

But Axel could see how his shoulders shook, how his hands clenched back into fists on the floor, and it made him ache. He wanted, he wanted. He  _wanted_. He wanted to let Owen take his anger out on him, in kisses and bites and fists and grinding. He wanted Owen to scream his frustrations, his feelings of powerlessness at him, to take the edge off and ground him better. He wanted to tuck dry eyes into the crook of his neck, rub strong shoulders and arms until they wrapped around him, clung onto him. He wanted to be Owen’s lifeline.

He wanted to get  _closer_.

He ran out through the skylight instead.


End file.
